


One Winter's Night

by erisgregory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Drinking, Happy Ending, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Overused Christmas Tropes, POV Harry Potter, Post-Divorce, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erisgregory/pseuds/erisgregory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is exhausting and Harry just wants it to be over so he can sleep. It takes one amazing spell, one very intoxicated Draco Malfoy, and one honest conversation to finally wake him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of my contribution to obligatory christmas miracle fics that bring these two together.

Christmas break. That was something people looked forward to, normally. Harry was excited to see the kids, he was, but twenty four hours into the break he had two fighting kids and one crying little girl who just wanted her brothers to stop yelling please! He still had them for three more days and then they were meeting everyone at the Burrow for Christmas Eve dinner and their mum was taking them after that. So he needed to calm things down. He needed a headache potion. He needed to find a way to enjoy their time together and clearly, this wasn’t it.

“Lils, grab your coat and boots, we’re getting out of this house.” he made up his mind before he even had a plan.

Harry convinced Albus to go with them, but James wanted the peace and quiet of an empty apartment. Part of Harry wanted to insist, but teenangers took a delicacy he was still trying to navigate and this case he couldn’t blame the kid so he agreed to let him stay home.

They decided on ice skating and hot chocolate and Harry indulged them in all of it, even going as far as to strap on a pair of skates himself and be a fool on the ice falling down more than actually skating. There was a time when he’d considered himself fairly athletic. Those days were in the distant past, apparently, but he thought maybe he should work on that, as a New Year’s resolution.

It was fun, even if it was still exhausting. He had a hard time not noticing the happy families skating around them, kids between their parents, couples skating hand in hand. It wasn’t that he wanted Ginny back, but it was all so distant from him, so alien, even. Harry remembered what it was like to be that happy, or at least be pretending to be that happy, and seeing it everywhere tonight made him feel like he was turning to ice. 

They got home late, Lily already asleep in his arms, and Albus content to bathe and head off to bed without so much as peep. James was still awake, but Harry left him be, choosing to spend the rest of the evening by the fire with tea and one of the many books he kept promising Hermione he would read. This one was called Getting Back on the Broomstick: A Wizard’s Guide to Life After Divorce.

He was not going to read it, but the reviews were amusing all the same.

The fire felt good to his cold feet, the crackling soothing to his nerves as the silence of children finally all asleep settled over his apartment.

Harry didn’t want to admit he was lonely. The trouble was, he couldn’t imagine trying to begin anything at this point in his life. He’d lost Ginny because he was too much inside his own head. He’d left the aurors because he didn’t have the same fight in him he’d had when he was younger. He was worn out and just wanted to figure out what it was that he was missing. But he was sure it wasn’t another person, no matter what his well meaning friends said. 

The truth was, he didn’t feel lonely. He didn’t feel much of anything, other than the ever present need for more and more sleep. He felt empty. He felt agitated. But not lonely. Exactly.

Even when he took himself to bed later that night and had to cast a warming charm on the sheets, he didn’t think what he was missing was a partner. He was missing something, he could admit that much, but not a romance, surely.

Ginny fire-called the kids the next day and after they all got a chance to speak to her she caught Harry up on her week. She was seeing Blaise Zabini these days and Harry managed to take it pretty well all things considered. It’s not like he’d had his heart broken by her or that he’d hurt her in that way, it was more that he always felt he should be a Weasley and now technically he wasn’t. That was too weird to think of though so he stopped and listened to her talk about what she had planned for the kids and how her team was doing. They were still best friends and that meant more to Harry than their marriage ever had.

After, Hermione came through with Rose and even though the house got ten times louder, it was happy noise, not angry noise, which in Harry’s mind was always preferable. Molly had explained happy noise when James was little. Happy noise was loud and messy but at least you could tune it out a little, you could trust that the house wasn’t about to be torn asunder so it was always better than angry noise. Or sad noise, gods forbid.

Hermione didn’t stay, but ran of to finish the last of her shopping with promises to be back before bedtime. Harry didn’t mind. Rose usually kept Albus out of James’ hair and that was what was important. As long as everyone was happy, one more kid didn’t bother him. She kissed his cheek and was off.

Harry took himself and Lily outside to play in the snow until they were both soggy and frozen, then they made lunch and James actually made an appearance.

“Don’t look so shocked, I need to eat too,” James told him evenly as he took a seat at the table.

“Fair enough,” Harry told him, hiding a small smile behind his sandwich. 

“Woah, you eat?” Albus chimed in, but Rose cowed him into stopping even though she giggled at his jab.

And it was fine. It was good even. Harry enjoyed being with them and he wasn’t at all lonely for adult conversation let alone some fling that would either be terribly awkward or horribly meaningless. Or both. He just needed a nap.  
The third day Harry had trouble getting out of bed. His body felt heavy, his limbs too weak to work right. Lily was worried. She climbed in bed with him and felt his forehead, frowning. 

“I can’t tell if you’re too hot or too cold,” she told him seriously. That got him up. That was the only thing that got him up.

“I’m not sick, Lilybean, just tired.” He told her, scooping her and her stuffed dragon off the bed and setting her on the floor.

“You’re always tired,” she observed and then she was off down the hall to make sure Albus was up and coming down for breakfast now that Daddy was coming.

Was it that bad? Harry hadn’t thought so, but if Lily was seeing it, well that wasn’t okay. He made French toast to make it up to her and then, when James made a rare morning appearance, he convinced them all to go out shopping for a gift for their mum. Distraction works best, he decided.

He did have fun. He found the last gifts he needed off his own list and they had fantastic curry for lunch. Everything was fine aside from the fact that Harry was barely alive on his feet, but at least the kids were enjoying their day. Tomorrow would be the Burrow and then he would sleep. For a week if he liked. 

“Dad! I need to get one more thing!” Albus tugging on his coat sleeve brought him back to the present.

“I thought you were all done,” Harry said, glancing down.

“I did too, but then I saw that!” Albus was pulling him now towards a shop window displaying Christmas ornaments.

“What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?” Harry asked, looking at all of the glass ornaments. They were in muggle London because Diagon would be insane and he didn’t want to cause a scene out and about with his kids.

“That one. The scorpion!” Albus was pointing and Harry saw it. As far as he was concerned it was hideous. Who wanted a scorpion on their Christmas tree? Albus looked like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Harry took a peek over at James who was rolling his eyes.

“Who’s it for?” Harry asked. Albus was already halfway into the little shop.

“Scorpius!” Albus told him brightly as he disappeared. Harry wavered on the sidewalk but a moment later his son was back and pulling him forward once more.

Harry knew that Scorpius was in the same year as Albus and Rose and if he really thought hard about it he could remember Albus mentioning that he wasn’t so bad really, no matter what Uncle Ron said, but he couldn’t recall anything about them being friends.

“More like best friends!” Albus was explaining. “Plus his whole family has this weird thing about their names and I just know he’d love it. Please, Dad, can I get it for him, please?”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. He felt like he was at a loss. The last time he’d thought about Malfoy had been… maybe a year ago, we’d the paper had run an article about he and his wife divorcing. In fact their whole year seemed lousy with divorce so Harry hadn’t thought too hard about it. Now and then he thought back, but he hadn’t considered his son befriending Malfoy’s. Harry didn’t feel any animosity or ill will he just felt, nothing. And tired. This made him feel exhausted all over again for no particular reason.

Christmas at the Burrow was a busy affair. Somehow, Harry got the kids there on time and he was greeted with the same warmth as ever, something he was incredibly grateful for. He was pressed into a soft chair and plied with sweets and mulled wine and Molly clucked at him over his dark eyes and sunken cheeks.

“You have to take better care of yourself, Harry! I’m going to get you good and fed and then you can take food home later,” she told him in no uncertain terms.

Ron sat with him and told him all about how the second Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was going in Hogsmeade and how they’d almost run out of stock before the kids let out for break. Ron seemed happy. He was a little rounded in the cheeks than Harry remembered from only a month ago, but it looked good on him. His hair was messy and his cheeks were glowing and he, more than anything else, made it feel like Harry was home. He was still one of them.

Teddy got in later than expected and Harry hugged him until he was coughing and laughing. Six months was a long time to go without seeing your godson, no matter how grown he thought he was! His hair was baby pink and Harry was immediately put in mind of his mother. He’d grown to look more and more like her and it made Harry ache just a little bit for their missing friends and family. 

After dinner and presents and not quite as much firewhiskey as Harry wanted, he went home, a bag filled with shrunk meals and desserts to last him a week at least. His presents were in there too, along with an invitation to Ginny and Blaise’s New Year’s party which Harry felt fairly certain he’d skip. Midnight was awfully late to stay up when one was feeling so sleep deprived already.

He fell into bed in just his shorts and sighed up at the ceiling. The moon was glowing bright and bouncing off the snow outside, enough to paint his room in a chilly blue light. His window was frosted over and it was cold. Too cold to sleep maybe, tired as he was, but he warmed himself and his sheets as always and managed to slip off shorty thereafter.

Harry found his mind wandering into new territory just as he faded into a dream. He wasn’t lonely, but was Malfoy?

“Wake up you absolute git.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes. He would panic at the voice in his room, but he didn’t bother as he was fairly certain he was dreaming.

“Did you go to bed drunk? Wake your arse up already.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes and reached for his glasses. They weren’t on his table.

“Here.” A warm hand pressed his glasses against his fingers. “Merlin’s sake, Harry. I should have known you’d be difficult.”

Once they were in place and Harry had his eyes open he couldn’t decide whether or not a good panic was in store or if he’d simply finally gone mad in which case why bother panicking if it was already too late?

“Are you sloshed? I don’t remember you being one to drink alone.”

Before Harry could really make his mind up, his body decided for him, and he was diving out of the bed and scrambling to find his wand. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, you’re awake finally. And sober. Good.” Malfoy was sitting at the end of his bed looking entirely too composed for Harry’s sanity.

“How did you get here? Why are you here?” Harry’s hand was shaking, but he had his wand at his side though he didn’t raise it. Yet.

“Excellent question. I can’t exactly answer it for you.” Malfoy told him. He looked down to examine his nails with a sigh. Like he was the one being inconvenienced right now.

“You need to tell me something before I hex you all the way to Eastern Europe.” Harry told him, proud that his voice wasn’t shaking. He couldn’t place it, but something about Malfoy seemed off.

“Fair enough,” Malfoy said. “I’m here because I need you to do something for me.”

“Are you out of your mind? Or am I?” Harry added the second part almost under his breath.

“No. I’m afraid this is the sanest thing I can do for either of us. So please, at least hear me out.” Malfoy turned pleading eyes on him and Harry, despite feeling totally mad, gave a quick nod and slipped his wand onto the nightstand. It was only then he realized he was standing in his shorts and Malfoy was sitting there staring at him. He grabbed at his quilt with a squawk. Malfoy chuckled but after a glare from Harry he stopped.

“Save your modesty. I won’t be long. I need you to hear me out and if you decide to help that would be wonderful. If not, I leave and you can pretend this was all a terrible dream. Who knows, maybe it is.” Malfoy looked around the room, briefly, then continued. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he really was still asleep. None of this felt real at all.

“I need you to get dressed and go to this pub,” here he held out a little slip of paper which Harry took then proceeded to stare at while Malfoy finished talking. “I’ll be there. I’ll be drinking. Alone. Just sit with me, please. Talk to me. Do your hero spiel on me, whatever, just do not let me leave that pub by myself. Got it?” Draco asked.

“No. You’re already here, why would I do any of that? Do you know what time it is?” Harry cast a quick tempus, it was midnight, so not nearly as late as he’d thought. Even so, this was insane.

Malfoy sighed and stood. “I can’t give you any more than that, just,” he ran a hand through his hair and then reached toward Harry, “Please go. I’ll be there. I need you, Harry. I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t. If you give even the tiniest damn about me, you’ll go. Stop me from going home alone!” His calm was cracking now and it scared Harry.

Harry instinctively moved back, but it didn’t matter. Even as Malfoy reached for him, his hand went translucent.

“Please, Harry. You can save me. It has to be you.” Malfoy’s face crumpled and as Harry watched in shock he began to fade until Harry was standing alone in his bedroom with nothing but a slip of paper to prove any of it was real.

_The Alchemist  
6 Bevis Marks, London_

He half expected it to vanish as well, but the little slip stayed in his hand. Harry sat heavily down on the cold wood floor of his room. His heart was clammering to get out of his chest and he couldn't breathe no matter how he tried to suck in the air around him. 

You can save me. It has to be you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write you a Christmas fic and actually finish it in time for Christmas, but here it is, January, and I'm still writing. Thank you for sticking with me anyway.

It took exactly twenty three minutes to decide he was going to the pub. If he was insane then Malfoy wouldn’t be there and Harry could go check himself in to St. Mungos immediately. If he was there, then maybe Harry could get some answers out of him. Or, maybe, he really was needed and in that case, Harry couldn’t refuse.

The Alchemist was a muggle pub, which was somewhat surprising to Harry. Even now, at almost one o’clock in the morning, Christmas morning at that, it was full. Or maybe that was why it was full. Harry could understand why Christmas was so hard for some. Even if he didn’t feel the need to drown his sorrows in public. Too messy, too hard to apparate home later. He did his drinking at home despite what Malfoy said back in his bedroom. 

Inside, Harry cast a cursory glance around. It was loud, but still nice enough that it made some sense Malfoy could deign to grace such a place with his presence. He found him at the bar. Malfoy was dressed in trim grey slacks and a thick white cable knit sweater, but it was definitely him. He had a bottle of whiskey in front of him and he was draining his glass as Harry approached.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, reaching for him and needed to feel for himself that Malfoy was actually here. His hand connected with Malfoy’s very solid arm.

Malfoy startled and looked over at him, eyes wide and practically swimming in alcohol. “Potter?” He didn’t slur so maybe he wasn’t too drunk at this point.

Harry didn’t know what to say. Somehow, on a completely visceral level, Harry was sure this wasn’t the same Malfoy who’d been in his room earlier. They looked almost exactly the same. The short hair, shorter than Harry remembered. The bruising under his eyes. The way his face no longer held any of the boyish roundness from his youth, but was now dignified somehow, even here, even like this. He didn’t look as old. That was the difference. Now that Harry was comparing them the other Malfoy, from earlier, ws older somehow. It terrified Harry in his gut, because he had no idea what was going on, but he knew he was staying and that he was going to do everything in his power not to let Malfoy go home alone.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked, all astonished wonder, when Harry didn’t say anything.

“Getting a drink.” Harry tells him. It’s true, he’s going to have a drink, just one, because he sure as hell needs one now.

He slides onto the empty stool next to Malfoy and catches the bartender’s attention to order a pint. Next to him, Malfoy empties his glass then refills it from the bottle. The din around them is a mixture of music and voices that fades and muffles while Harry ties to get over his renewed shock at the situation. His hands feel damp, but his mouth is bone dry.

“Sit somewhere else.” Malfoy says, but his voice holds no malice.

“Can’t. There’s no seats left.” Harry takes a deep swallow from his pint and tries to work out what he thinks his plan might be. 

Malfoy seems to accept that and neither of them says anything for several minutes. The pub is loud, though, and Harry’s nerves are more frayed than they’ve been all week. He’s trying to come up with something to say and trying to guess if this is some elaborate dream when Malfoy finally looks over at him again.

“Shouldn’t you be with your Weasleys? Or your children, at the very least?” Malfoy asks.

Fifteen years ago, Harry imagines the way Malfoy would have said Weasleys; with a snide sneer. But tonight it sounds like a genuinely curious question and Harry doesn’t want to answer it. His Weasleys, his children. He wants to, part of him. Part of him wants to take a vacation. It’s frankly depressing that he has no one to spend tonight or the next morning with, but even more so that he wasn’t terribly bothered by it until Malfoy asks him in the middle of a pub in the middle of the night. He’s not here to drink away his sorrows though, so he pulls himself up and draws a breath to answer.

“I was with them earlier. Ginny has them now, at her parent’s house.” Harry has no idea why he’s compelled to answer so softly, like he’s sharing a secret with Malfoy.

“Bloody awful having to split your time with them, isn’t it?” Malfoy swirls the amber liquid in his glass and watches as it refracts the low lighting around them and Harry watches him.

“It should be, maybe,” Harry offers, sinking lower into his stool under the weight of how pathetic he sounds to his own ears.

“Maybe? What does that mean? Don’t tell me your children are all spoiled and awful and you can’t stand them. Though, considering their famous parentage…” Malfoy’s voice trails off and Harry is surprised to realize he was just teasing. “Come on Potter, no one wants to be away from family on Christmas.”

“No, I don’t suppose they do. I don’t either, I’m just so…” Now it’s Harry’s turn to let his voice trail off. He’s thinking about the Christmas mornings he used to share with Ginny when the kids were all little. Staying up late to put the finishing touches on everything, toasting one another with only the light from the tree and the warmth from the dying fire, the look on the kid’s faces when they came downstairs. It was everything he never had a kid, everything he’d wanted to create for them, but it wasn’t whole. He wasn’t whole with Ginny, and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t whole with him either. And now? Harry didn’t know. He was still trying to figure out what any of that meant and how to be whole on his own. Or maybe he wasn’t trying anything, as Hermione had recently accused. Maybe he was just standing still.

“Fucking depressed if you ask me, though I don’t suppose you did. I would know,” Malfoy muses as he takes another drink.

“I didn’t think I was until just now,” Harry admits.

“Seriously, Potter, even you can’t be that dense. Look at you! Your hair is worse than ever, it looks like you haven’t shaved in three days, and your jeans are stained. And you’re here. Everyone here tonight is depressed, no matter how loudly they protest. We’re all here for the same bloody reason. We have nowhere else to be.” Malfoy lifted his glass as though to toast the entire pub, then emptied his glass.

He was right, that was the first thing Harry thought. That was what the exhaustion was, probably He didn’t need a vacation, he needed a new life. He needed to care about beginning to live again. Just thinking about it made it feel so much worse, though. Then he remembered what brought him here to begin with and he took a hard look at Malfoy.

“You’re probably right,” Harry admitted, though he left the probably in because he didn’t think he could stand to tell Malfoy that he was absolutely right about anything just now.

Malfoy smirked and refilled his glass. That felt more like the old days. “Probably?” he quirked an eyebrow at Harry who found himself chuckling, just a little.

“Okay, things are shite and I’m only just figuring out how much it’s affected me. Satisfied?” Harry drained his own glass and waved the bartender over. He expected something back from Malfoy, something leering or snarky, but when he turned back to him, Malfoy was just watching Harry.

“Quite.” he said. They stayed like that, staring at one another for several heartbeats until both of them lost their composure completely and dissolved into laughter, Harry shaking his head all the while and Malfoy nearly bent in half.

When they got themselves under control once more, Harry was pleased to find Malfoy still smiling. “We’re unhinged, the both of us, you realize that, right? We ought to take ourselves to the hospital straightaway for professional diagnoses.” Malfoy said. He raised his glass at Harry with twisted grin.

Harry raised his new pint in turn. “To being unhinged.” He offered. Malfoy clinked their glasses together in agreement before they drank.

He was spending far too long enjoying what felt like the banter of old, though admittedly they’d never been so playful with one another, instead of trying to keep a level head and fulfill his job for the night, saving Malfoy, whatever that was supposed to mean. He made the decision, quite immediately, to switch to water on the next round.

Malfoy watched this with interest, but said nothing as he continued to steadily drain his whiskey. They didn’t talk about anything important for a while. The Quidditch season, the state of modern music, things like that. Harry found himself rather amazed by Malfoy’s constitution, he didn’t seemed the slightest bit phased by the amount of liquor he was consuming. Or maybe he was. Harry couldn’t remember Malfoy ever smiling so much, and certainly never at him.

Harry’s water didn’t seem to help much, he could tell he was sloshed already and he hadn’t meant to do that. Malfoy had always had a strange hold on him, he could admit that much. Just not out loud. If he could help it. Malfoy was laughing behind his glass and Harry realized he’d missed something. He wanted to know what it was, what was so funny. Malfoy was shaking his head now and Harry felt like he’d missed a step. Or three.

“What are you thinking so hard about over there, Potter? You went somewhere just now.” Malfoy ask, leaning in closer to him, dropping his voice low. Was he flirting? He wasn’t flirting. He was drunk. And so was Harry.

“You’re doing it right now,” Malfoy accused.

“Am not.” Harry argued, pursing his lips and trying to not look at Malfoy’s mouth. It was difficult. He’d always found something compelling about Malfoy, but this was on another level. It felt dangerous. There was no reason to believe any of whatever he was feeling was reciprocated.

“I can practically hear the tiny, extremely tiny, gears turning in that head of yours.” Malfoy told him before leaning back and flashing him a smile.

“Oh well, thanks for that.” Harry grumbled, but Malfoy’s hand was on his arm and his face was going all serious suddenly.

“I’m sloshed, Potter, but you’re not. You’re planning something. I know what you look like when you’re planning something. Or you’re way overthinking the situation. As long as it isn’t anything that will kill my buzz, I’ll leave you be.” Malfoy told him plainly.

“It won’t kill your buzz and I’m not planning anything. I just realized I didn’t want a massive hangover in the morning.” Harry tried. He didn’t want to think about inappropriate attractions when he was supposed to be concentrating on how he could be helpful.

“Whatever you say.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but it was still playful. Harry watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a tiny vial. “I came prepared. No hangovers for me either.” 

“Nice.” Harry gave him a half smile. Everything was topsy turvy and the water wasn’t helping him. It probably wasn’t the beer doing him in, he thought. Malfoy looked so good and Harry didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that. Nothing, probably. He was just supposed to stay with him tonight. The Malfoy from earlier never said go drink and flirt.

“Whatever it is you’re agonizing over in that Gryffindor head of yours, can you just leave it off for a night? I’m not letting you kill my buzz. I worked very hard to get this drunk. I have plans for tonight, you see.” Malfoy told him. He was almost to the end of his bottle.

“What plans are those?” Harry asked, wondering if they were finally getting around to whatever it was that had that other Malfoy so concerned.

“To be fantastically sloshed. To forget I’m alone tonight. Maybe to meet someone devastating so I’m not alone. Though with you here that may be a little difficult.” Malfoy’s voice was teasing, but Harry heard the truth of it.

“You’re planning to meet a muggle?” Harry asked, whispering.

“Could be. I was just trying it on for size. Not many people from back home willing to go to bed with the likes of me.” Malfoy made a sour face but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Oh. I know what you mean.” Harry admitted. He’d been divorced almost a year, though he hadn’t quite settled into it, he’d learned how impossible dating would be pretty early on.

“No you don’t.” Malfoy accused. “You could sleep with anyone. You’re Harry bloody Potter.” Malfoy rolled his eyes but he didn’t sound mean.

“That’s just it. They want the hero, they don’t want me. They want the man they think I am.” Harry was wishing he hadn’t decided to try and sober up. This conversation was so up and down it was making him queasy. 

“Still better than being disgusting to everyone I’d wager.” Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe so. I’d counter the outcome is the same.” Harry shook his head.

“So what about muggles? Have you tried that?” Malfoy asked, curiosity clear in the lift of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes.

“Once or twice.” Harry admitted. “But I found I wasn’t really made for casual flings. Not after being married for so long.

“Ah,” was all Malfoy said.

“It’s hard to meet anyone, but I reckon I think men are harder than women. I haven’t been able to decide if that’s really true or if it’s only true because Ginny and I were so simple in the beginning. There was never any question we’d be together or get married. Harry rubbed his palms on his jeans with a sigh. He wasn’t looking at Malfoy then, he was looking around the room, lost in thought.

“Did you just come out to me?” Malfoy sounded surprised and Harry had to snap back to attention.

“I?” Harry thought back over what he’d just said. “I guess I did.” He admitted. “Is it a problem?” He wanted to feel much more defensive about it than he did, but the whole night was too strange to work himself up over something he’d already grown comfortable with.

“No. I’m just imagining all the broken-hearted witches out there.” Malfoy’s huff was more laugh than anything else. “Besides it’d be awfully hypocritical of me to take offense to it considering my own predilections.”

“You’re…?”

“Queer. Or as my father likes to say, the worst pillow biter the Malfoy family’s seen in a century.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asked.

Malfoy laughed, this time outright. “It means I’m so gay I couldn’t stay in my loveless, passionless marriage unlike my ancestors who understood discretion and family honor.” Malfoy didn’t seem hurt by this at all and Harry realized he really didn’t know what it meant in wizarding society beyond his own limited experience. All of his friends were supportive so that’s all he knew. It gave him a stab of empathy for what Malfoy must have endured, despite his nonchalance about the matter.

“Stop looking so serious over there. My father knew I was gay since before I did, probably. He got a grandson out of me and beyond that he doesn’t really care what I do. He just has an old habit of reminding me of various ways I’ve disappointed him. I hold my ground these days and remind him right back. It’s all very civil.” Malfoy assured him. It didn’t sound civil, but Harry knew there was very little he knew about Malfoy’s life past the surface facts.

“Last call!” The bartender called out. Harry glanced around surprised. He’d been talking to Malfoy for almost two hours.

Harry panicked. He’d forgotten to formulate a plan. “Come home with me.” He said before he could think.

“You really do think you can anyone, don’t you?” Malfoy pretended at shock but he was smiling the entire time.

“I meant, rather than go home, alone, since I interrupted your plans to find a… a devastating bloke, I could at least open a bottle of Ogden’s or make a cup of tea…” Harry could hear himself and he wanted very much to sink down into his stool and disappear.

“As appealing as that sounds…” Malfoy started. He wasn’t laughing now, but looking at Harry in a calculating way that made him want to disappear faster. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to beg.

“I don’t want to go home alone. Crash on my couch. Or take the bed. I’m not coming on to you, I just… please?” Harry could feel his face burning, the heat crawling across his face.

Malfoy didn’t say anything at first, but then his face softened, almost imperceptibly. “Alright. But no tea, Potter. This isn’t a night for tea.”

They paid their respective tabs and headed out into the night together. It was dark and cold, but Harry didn’t notice anything except the way Malfoy wound his scarf around his neck or the way his overcoat seemed to fit him so well. It was embarrassing, he had to turn away as he pulled his own coat on.

When he realized Malfoy was just staring at him, it made it even worse. “What?” Harry asked.

“I have no idea where you live? Potter did you drink before coming out tonight? You need to side along me, if you’re capable.” Draco put his arm out and Harry took him by the wrist with an apologetic laugh. 

“I’m not drunk, Malfoy.” He said softly, then the ground pulled away and a second later they were standing in his living room.

Harry released him waved his hand toward the lights before pulling off his coat. He was struck by how barren his apartment was. Even with the little tree in the corner and a few of the kids things that lived there now, it looked barely lived in. At least it was mostly clean. He took a quick glance at Draco who was now unwinding his scarf and laying over the back of the chair where he’d laid his coat. He too was looking around.

“I’ll just grab some glasses,” Harry said, anxious to put some space between them.

“And the Ogden’s,” Draco reminded him.

When he returned he found Malfoy had a nice fire going in the fireplace and the tree was illuminated once more. It was surprising and somehow festive, even in the middle of all of this craziness. It made things less tense, which was good because Harry was completely on edge. He sat the glasses down on his little coffee table and sat opposite Malfoy who had slid to the floor in a single graceful motion. He pushed back the sleeves of his sweater and Harry’s eyes were drawn to the mark still on his forearm. 

“One of these days I’m going to invent magical tattoo removal,” Draco said.

Harry felt immediately guilty for staring and looked away. 

“That’s not true,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t get rid of it now, and I don’t mind anyone looking, not any more.

Harry met his eyes across the table. He hadn’t expected such honestly, nor did he feel he deserved the quiet forgiveness Malfoy was offering him for staring at the mark, but he was so glad for both. He broke the moment by reaching for the bottle and pouring a small splash of firewhiskey in each glass.

They drank, both in silence and to Harry it felt almost precious, important. Everything was still around them, but the crackling of the fire. Time was suspended here. They were both safe and at ease, at least for right now, and the strangest thing of all was that Harry found he was more than enjoying Malfoy’s company. He was grateful for it. 

“We need to talk about this decor, Potter. Or lack thereof.” Malfoy crinkled his nose as he gestured around the room. 

Harry laughed, it was too absurd. And kind of perfect too.

“Maybe you could call me Harry. Then we could talk about it.” Harry poured out another drink and grinned at Malfoy.

“Your appalling sense of interior decorating isn’t a surprise, Harry, but it manages still to be a disappointment.” Malfoy told him, emphasis on his name. He was smiling again, leaning on his elbow.

“And just what do you suggest I do about it, Draco?” Harry asked, trying out Draco’s name and enjoying it far too much.

“Oh gods, if you have to ask, then things are much worse off than I imagined.” Draco teased.

Harry laughed again, but had to agree. “Good thing you’re here then,” Harry told him, and they toasted to that.

Draco was here, he wasn’t going home alone, and they were both laughing together like old friends. Harry couldn’t think too far beyond that, beyond the relief that he’d at least got that much right. Draco was safe, and for the first time in years Harry let himself feel how much that mattered to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really meant this to only have two chapters, but these two kept talking and talking. I felt they deserved the space to build up to the next part. I hope you understand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where the rating comes in. It gets close to explicit, but I feel like it stays just under that rating. Let me know if you think I've made the wrong call on that and I will update the rating as well.

Harry didn’t remember laying down on the floor, but he was relaxed and drunk and happy. They were sprawled out in front of the fire, side by side, though Harry’s feet were toward the tree and Draco’s pointed off the other way toward the kitchen. Their faces, though, lay even with one another, both staring up at the ceiling. 

Harry wanted to look over and did so once or twice. Draco was flushed and smiling, his eyes crinkling in the corners. It made Harry’s heart pulse with comfort and warmth. It was good, in the simplest of ways. Harry felt as though he might melt into the floor he was so at ease here, though he wouldn’t want to miss the gentle cadence of Draco’s storytelling there beside him, so close.

At some point in the night the conversation drifted from mundane topics to deeper, more meaningful subjects. Harry talked about his feelings of failure, not just as a husband and father, but as a leader of any sort. He didn’t want to be anyone’s hero or poster boy any more, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to escape the boy he’d been or how people still looked to him for answers. He talked about the Ministry functions he turned down every year, about quitting the aurors. About looking back on the past almost twenty years and wondering if he’d wasted them trying to be someone he never could be.

Draco talked about losing most of his friends. Everyone but Pansy and Blaise. About the relief he’d felt when his wife finally moved out. His fears for Scorpius growing up a Malfoy in a post Malfoy world. He talked about the strength of his mother and her unwavering support of him. How they’d grown to be more like friends, both of them trusting the other more than they trusted maybe anyone else. About his father and his failing health. The tense peace they maintained that wasn’t quite the same as forgiveness. 

Most of all, Draco talked about his loneliness, like it was a living thing, a vast empty shell of a thing slowly eating him up. Harry didn’t cry, but he could feel the hot prickle of unshed tears when Draco told him he’d decided he could live with the loneliness, he could make it his ally, let it make him stronger. Harry knew all about loneliness, didn’t he? Even if he’d never admitted it to anyone before, not even himself.

Their conversation grew slower and slower until they lay in silence, listening to one another breathe and soaking in the magical quality of those predawn hours. Eventually Draco turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he could see Harry. His eyes reflected the lights of the Christmas tree, the gray taking on bits of blue and green like a clear lake under a glittering night sky. Harry was enchanted, forgetting to care that he was staring, forgetting to worry about anything at all.

Draco’s mouth curved softly at the corner and Harry knew then, he wanted to kiss him. Wanted to lean up into him, to pull him down, to roll him over. The possibilities flashed through his mind like so many elusive wishes.

“You’re thinking very hard again. I thought we’d decided not to do that anymore tonight.” Draco said softly.

“Couldn’t help it this time,” Harry told him. “I think there’s still a lot I need to say.” He admitted, surprising himself.

“It doesn’t all need to be said tonight, does it?” Draco asked. His face was so close to Harry’s, he could feel his breath brushing his face as Draco spoke. It made his lips tingle with want.

Harry bit into his lower lip and let his eyes close for just a moment. Some of it did need saying. Especially if Draco felt even half of what he was feeling. When he opened his eyes again, Draco’s eyebrows had drawn together, his mouth pressing into a line of worry.

“I have to say that I’m sorry.” Harry whispered.

“No, you don’t.” Draco said, equally as quiet. He sounded so sincere, Harry almost couldn’t take it.

“Yes, I do. I have to apologize to you and I should have done it years ago. Sixth year--”

“Harry. Don’t, please?” Now it was Draco’s turn to close his eyes.

“I could have helped. I could have tried, but I just saw you as the enemy and instead of reaching out to you, I attacked you, and I have never not thought about that night and how differently things could have gone if only I’d taken a moment to--”

“Enough.” Draco cut him off again. “That’s enough. You saved me, from the fire, or have you forgotten?” All of this was said so gently.

“I haven’t forgotten. But then at the trials--”

“Harry. I forgave you for that night years ago, and as for the rest of it, well, none of that was really in your control, was it? You did what you could. You spoke at my trial, you returned my wand. I’m not carrying any grudges. You were just a boy, Harry. Like our children now. What more could you have done?” Draco sounded sad, but his face was so tender now it hurt to look at.

Harry pulled himself up on his elbow, facing Draco, somehow closer now. “You were just a boy too, Draco. You could have used a friend, an ally.”

“And do you really think I would have accepted your friendship, if you’d offered?” Draco asked. His whispered voice had grown hoarse.

“I do.” Harry told him. “So let me apologize and if you forgive me, just say so. I’m sorry, for all of it, Draco.”

“You’re still a git, you realize that? I didn’t want to talk about this tonight.” Draco shook his head, slightly. “I forgive you, Harry. Like I said, I forgave you years ago. I hope you’ve forgiven me.”

“Of course I have,” Harry was quietly emphatic.

“Then let’s leave it there, in the past.” Draco whispered.

“Alright,” Harry agreed.

There was something so soft about Draco, just then, so open and vulnerable, and Harry had to wonder if he didn’t look exactly the same way to Draco.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” Draco leaned forward as he said this, his eyes flicking down to Harry’s mouth.

“Please,” Harry murmured.

The first brush of Draco’s mouth was careful, light. Even so, Harry could feel it everywhere, like his body was run through and through with crackling electricity, just enough to make his skin buzz. Draco sighed against him and it was such a sound of relief, that Harry couldn’t help but pull him forward, down over him as he lay back, pressing his mouth to Draco’s over and over until he couldn’t think, could only feel the weight of Draco half on top of him and the slick slide of their lips.

Draco didn’t hold back any more and Harry, Harry couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. He nipped at Draco’s lip, testing the silkiness of it against the tip of his tongue before pulling it between his teeth, sucking at it, biting harder. Draco moaned and cupped Harry’s jaw as he opened him up, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Everything became a little frantic then.

They became a tangle of limbs and breaths, grabbing and pulling at one another until Harry was gasping in Draco’s mouth and Draco had to pull away just to drag air into his lungs before latching onto Harry’s neck making Harry writhe under him.

Harry could only take that for so long. He was already hard in his jeans, trembling with want. He pulled Draco back up to his mouth, kissing him deep, hard, teeth clicking, tongues exploring. Harry slid his hands up under Draco’s clothes, sliding them along the smooth panes of his back. At some point Draco had climbed over Harry, straddling him, rubbing their bodies together in a way that drove Harry mad.

Harry wanted it, he wanted so much more than this, but he had no idea how drunk Draco was still or really how drunk he was. If they did this, if they went any farther, he wanted to know for sure that Draco was with him, fully. Soberly making the decision with Harry. He had to know he’d remember every detail of it later. It felt big and important and Harry didn’t want to cock it all up before it could get started. He hated the sound of his voice when he finally voiced his concerns.

“We should stop.” He croaked. He felt wrecked. He couldn’t even think clearly.

Draco stopped immediately and made to move off of Harry. His face shuttered closed and Harry felt like cold water had just been dumped over him.

“Not stop, just, we should wait. Until morning or until, until we’re sure we’re not drunk.” Harry tried to hold on to Draco, keep him close, but Draco continued to withdraw.

“You think there’s a chance you wouldn’t make this choice if you weren’t so drunk, is that it?” Draco asked, he sounded so bitter Harry wanted to weep.

“No. No, Draco. I’ve wanted this, gods, maybe for a long time. I’m not going to change my mind. I just want to remember everything, I want _us_ to remember everything about it, when we go further. Please don’t go anywhere. Stay right here. Stay with me.” Harry pleaded. He didn’t know what he’d do if Draco left now.

Draco closed his eyes as Harry watched. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath, but he did go still. He let Harry keep his hands on him. Then he nodded, looking at Harry. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. Your terribly noble and annoying Gryffindor way.” He chuckled and shook his head at Harry again.

“I’m not staying here though.” He said with a grin. Harry was confused for a moment until he added, “I’m too old to sleep on the floor. Take me to bed, Harry.”

The suggestion made Harry feel hot all over, but he had to agree it sounded much better than the hard floor. Harry pulled him down then, tight against him. He only gave Draco a moment to be surprised before he whisked them to his bed, the twist of the apparition nothing compared to rolling Draco over, under him and kissing him again, this time among the cool smooth sheets, pressing him down into the soft mattress below them. Draco laughed into his mouth and held him tight.

Some time, just as the sun was beginning to brighten his window, Harry felt himself drift to sleep. They’d stripped down to boxers, though Draco informed him it was uncivilized to sleep without pajamas. Harry kept him distracted with kisses and light touches until they were snuggled together under the down comforter, whispering their plans for one another, for the morning. 

Draco fell asleep first, his lips still pressed to Harry’s neck, laying sprawled half on top of Harry. His body was so warm and comforting, Harry didn’t stand a chance of staying awake. He let himself go, pulled under by Draco’s steady breathing and the promise of something so new and fragile and so very like hope that Harry wasn’t sure he even knew what to do with it.

They made love that afternoon when they first woke up. Draco worked him open slowly with careful fingers and a hum of magic that left him tingling and wet. Harry had never let anyone touch him like that, never let himself be that vulnerable, but he trusted Draco and Draco was so very gentle. Just when Harry thought they were both close, Draco surprised him by switching them, straddling Harry and sinking down over his cock. He rode Harry through their orgasms, hard, fast, then all slow hitching movements.

They didn’t lie to each other or make promises they weren’t sure about, but they did agree to give it a real chance. That meant being honest with the people they cared about. It meant making time for one another and it meant that both of them had to make an effort to let go of everything that had been holding them back for years. It wouldn’t be easy, but Harry was so sure it would be worth it.

He didn’t tell Draco about the strange circumstance surrounding Christmas Eve or about his visitor, not even when Draco slyly asked what Harry had really been doing at the pub that night. He didn’t think Draco would believe him anyway, he still hardly believed it himself. Had he really saved Draco from anything, or had he been the one that needed saving? Besides, it still didn’t make any sense. Harry still didn’t know why or for what reason. It didn’t matter in the long run, all that mattered was living now, really living, and making a future with Draco. Maybe one day, he would talk about it, if the time ever felt right.


	4. Epilogue

Five years went by with Harry rarely thinking of the haunting image of the older Draco in his bedroom. He thought more often of how they’d confessed almost everything to one another that night by the light of the tree and the warmth of the fire, trusted each other with things no one else knew, listened and understood each other for the first time ever. Apologized. The night they’d begin to fall in love. Or they night they both realized they’d always felt something for one another.

Though they were married in the fall, both of them still held Christmas Eve as a special anniversary, making love by the fire, as they’d both wanted to that first night. Though Draco had some helpful charms to soften the floor and Harry always silently accio’d their bedding, it was close enough. It was better.

Five years and their lives were so drastically different, in all the best ways. The kids took it the best, Harry thought. Ginny was stoically supportive, Hermione his fierce defender, Ron his reluctant confidant. Molly and Arthur had gone so much further than Harry ever expected, inviting Draco to join them in all family functions, reminding Harry he was their son, their family, and that meant Draco was too. 

The Malfoys were a little more difficult. Narcissa was quietly dignified in all of their meetings, thought she’d privately given her blessing to Harry before they exchanged their vows. He knew she only wanted Draco to be happy and if that meant Harry, she was behind them all the way. Lucius on the other hand was difficult. He and Harry never could make the peace he and Draco had. They tolerated one another and while that wasn’t the best situation, maybe it was the best anyone could hope for. He was rarely around though, his mind wasn’t what it once was, Azkaban had taken a lot out of him. Harry was sad for Draco over it all, but he couldn’t quite be sad for Lucius.

He was happy, though, in all the important ways. He’d found things he loved to do, writing, for instance. Under a pen name of course. He could pour all of his past frustrations into the fantasies and romances he wrote and in doing so get them out of his head. It was therapeutic on so many levels even though Draco made fun of what he called Harry’s sickening Gryffindor ideologies. It helped that Draco was honestly his biggest fan. 

Draco became a potions master, though he declined a post offered to him at Hogwarts, instead choosing to open his own shop in the middle of Diagon Alley to spite everyone who’d tried to push him away. Now they flocked to his store, the past prejudices fading like all of their other post war scars.

This year, for Christmas, Luna was having a party that they were invited to. It would be the first Christmas Eve they hadn’t spent entirely alone though they’d promised each other they’d slip away early enough to celebrate together.

It was still early even when Harry found himself sitting around a bonfire, Pansy to his right, and Hermione to his left. Draco was off somewhere with Ginny and her new husband, Blaise Zabini of all people, trying to convince them to get a vacation home in France so they could stay together over the summer hols. Harry had no doubt he’d be able to do it. All he had to do was paint that idyllic picture of the kids and not having to split their time and Ginny would be all for it. It was horribly civilized and perfectly wonderful in Harry’s mind. 

“How is Draco, Harry? I haven’t heard from him lately. I suspect he’s been cooped up in that basement of yours cooking up some new and improved concoction to overprice and sell to the masses?” Pansy sneered, but Harry knew her well enough now to know she meant every word affectionately. She and Hermione worked together in the Department of Mysteries doing whatever it was they did and weren’t allowed to talk about.

“Something like that.” He told her. “He’s amazing, though. I don’t even try to wrap my mind around any of it.”

“He seems happy. You both do,” Hermione chimed in from the other side.

“I hope he is. I think he is. I am. I never knew I could be this happy.” Harry admitted.

“Gross, spare us the details. I get enough of that drivel in your books.” Pansy complained.

“And yet you still read them,” Harry pointed out.  
“Draco insists.” She sniffed. Hermione laughed.

Harry couldn’t help but grin at her. “Does he?”

She crinkled her nose at him, but refused to say anything else.

“What she’s trying to say is that she’s glad you’re both so happy together. You had us both worried for a while, before you found each other.” Hermione said.

“Well, thank you for the sentiment. Yes, we are very happy.” Harry was sincere though his voice was slightly teasing. For some reason Pansy’s eyes had gone a bit dark and she was worrying the hem of her sleeve in a way Harry had never seen. She almost looked uncomfortable.

“That’s all I’m saying,” Pansy leaned over and looked at Hermione.

“Good, because it’s all that needs saying,” Hermione lifted her chin. Harry felt completely lost.

“I’m glad you both care so much, but what’s going on?” Harry asked.

Both of them were silent for much longer than seemed normal for either of them. Finally Hermione threw up her hands and leaned back into her chair with a huff. “You’re going to tell him no matter what so you might as well do it now.” 

“Tell me what, what is there to tell?” Harry asked.

“You wanted to tell him too” Pansy said softly. She looked around and so did Harry but they were the only ones still out by the fire.

“I know, but now I’m not sure, I don’t want it to change anything.” Hermione answered. She was rubbing her eyes and pointedly not looking back at Harry.

“Mione. What is it? This is weird, even for you.” Harry said.

“It’s been long enough, it’s safe to tell him.” Pansy insisted.

“So tell him,” Hermione said. She looked at Harry with a sad sort of smile and shrugged. “I don’t really know what’s right anymore. I just want you to be happy and stay happy. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know that. You’re starting to scare me, though.” Harry told her.

“Don’t be scared, just hear us out, okay? Don’t ask anything until I’m finished saying what needs saying.” Pansy was dead serious to the point that Harry had goosebumps. He nodded.  
“It was an accident, in the beginning. The magic I was assigned to work on, the details of which are of course confidential, was unpredictable at best. I can’t give you much except to say that I found myself visiting with people from the future.” Pansy paused.

Harry began to feel a twisting dread in his stomach. “Maybe I don’t want to hear this after all,” he said.

“I think you do, Harry. And I think you should tell Draco too.” Pansy said, this time her voice was soft, almost pleading. Harry just waved his hand so she’d continue. He didn’t trust his voice.

“Mostly I saw Draco. I won’t burden with all of it, but it wasn’t good, Harry. The one happy thing he had in his life, you, he was losing because he couldn’t stop drinking. Seriously drinking. Addicted, Harry. He was sick with it. He was losing everything. He had one wish, you see. He wished he’d met you sooner, before he’d become an alcoholic. He was sure if you’d come back into his life at that crucial point, he’d have turned to you, instead of to liquor. I know it sounds crazy, it is crazy, but he was so broken, Harry. He was so empty and sad. You couldn’t help him, then, and he couldn’t help himself, and so I thought--”

“You did it.” Harry whispered. He was shocked. He didn’t know what to think. He had no regrets about being with Draco, but it scared him to think it was a manipulation.

“I had to, Harry. If you’d seen him--”

“I did see him. He was desperate, but not broken, not like, what you’re saying. He said I could save him, oh god.” Harry buried his face behind his hands and didn’t move again until Hermione pried them away so she could check on him.

“This doesn’t have to be something you you hide from him. No one else knows, I made sure there was no way to trace it. And you’re both so happy. It’s not as if you were tricked into loving him. You just ran into him about a year sooner.” Hermione looked stricken and Harry had to take pity on her.

“He said only I could save him. What did he mean though, how is that even possible?” Harry whispered.

“You needed each other. You saved each other. You see that, don’t you? Pansy just gave you both a little push so he wouldn’t spend that year drinking himself nearly to death before finding you and trying to have a relationship that was doomed from the start. He loved you, loves you, Harry.” After a moment she took his hands.

“Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same for me or Ron or Ginny if need be? Can you tell me you wouldn’t do anything for Draco?” she asked. She was kneeling beside his chair looking so earnest and concerned it hurt him.

“No. You know I can’t say that. I get it.” He turned toward Pansy. “I get it. I just… why did you wait so long?”

“We wanted to be sure we’d done the right thing. If we hadn’t… well I would have told you anyway. I didn’t want to burden you with it, but it’s right, it was the right thing to do. Sending Draco to you then, and telling you about it now. I hope you’ll forgive me, Harry.” Hermione said softly.

“And me,” Pansy added. “He’s all I have left in this world. He’s my family. I had to save him if I could.”

Harry nodded, quiet, thinking. His head was still reeling when he spoke again. “I don’t think I need to forgive you for doing what you thought was best. I’m so happy, I never thought I could be this happy and I don’t regret it for a moment. And I can forgive you for keeping it from me. I understand.” Harry’s eyes went blurry and he wiped at them before they could spill over. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione hugged him tight and Pansy reached over and squeezed his hand. It took five years to learn the truth, but he knew right away that he would tell Draco and let the chips fall where they may. No more secrets.

Draco took it really well, all things considered. He did write a rather hurried letter to send to Pansy, but otherwise he was very calm and collected.

“I don’t know why you never said anything.” He told Harry.

They were on their couch, in front of the fire and what is it about the fireplace, Harry wondered. He was nervous, his mind darting every which way except the ways that might be helpful.

“I didn’t know what it meant. I never figured it out and I didn’t want to risk what we have.” Harry was as honest as he could be. “I always thought I still could tell you if it ever made more sense. I know I was wrong. You should have known the truth from the start so you could decide what to think about it, the same way I did.” Harry was watching his hands now, Draco’s hands. They were folded neatly on his knees, the only sign of Draco’s stress was in how tightly his fingers pressed into the backs of his hands.

“Did it change anything tonight, when they told you?” Draco asked.

“No,” Harry said quickly. He looked up into Draco’s eyes and found the love he’d come to rely on. “Nothing could change how much I love you.” Harry hesitated only a moment before asking. “Does it change anything for you?”

“No, it doesn’t. Nothing ever could.” Draco reached for Harry and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Harry. 

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s middle and pressed his cheek to Draco’s chest, listening to his heart beating. They were going to be okay, he could feel it in his bones. Whatever forces brought them together, they were inseparable now.

“I love you, Draco.” Harry whispered.

“I love you too, Harry. Thank you for saving me,” he added softly.

“Thank you for saving me.” Harry squeezed Draco hard until Draco was laughing and pulling him up so they could see each other.

“Now, that’s about enough of that,” Draco announced before pulling Harry in and kissing him soundly.

They stayed up all night celebrating their fifth anniversary, reminiscing, and making love until their knees ached and the sun was coming up and then fell asleep wrapped around one another and as Harry was pulled down into his dreams he he sent a thank you out into the universe. To Pansy for loving Draco so much she was willing to do anything, possible illegal anythings to help him, for Hermione for helping her, for Draco from the future for knowing exactly what they both needed, and to his Draco, for loving him and forgiving him for everything, even the secret of how they met again. When he dreamed, he dreamed of the future they were creating together, one that made them both happy and whole. Just as they were now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. I didn't make it in time for Christmas but here we are, finally at the end. Feel free to come see me on tumblr http://erisgregory.tumblr.com/


End file.
